On The Front Lines
by NikolaiEvans115
Summary: It's 1942, and unrest is brewing in Nazi Germany. Soul Evans just wants to get away form it all: his family, his brother, his expectations...So he does the unlikely: He joins the U.S. Army. Rated M for probable lemon in later chapters. SOULxMAKA
1. Black Joker, Part 1

Chapter One: Black Joker

~1942, D-Day plus 20.~

_Dear Wes, _

_As I sit in my muddy foxhole in the pouring rain, artillery whining overhead, I can't help but think of home. I hope you and Blair are doing well. Sorry I can't be there for the birth of your baby boy, and hope I will be able to go home when this war is over. After narrowly surviving my deployment to France, I do not have much optimism on my chances. But if I die, I will die a free man._

_Best wishes, your brother,_

_Soul Evans_

Folding the letter, I stuffed the yellowed piece of paper into the liner of my helmet; thinking about how pathetic I was for actually _missing _my home. Don't get me wrong_, _my place is an enormous manor in D.C., but…Well, let's just say I have frequent family problems.

"HEADS UP, SOUL!"

I was interrupted from my self-pity as stars exploded in my head; something heavy in a canvas landed right on my head. Even through my steel helmet, it felt like a shitload of bricks.

"Son of a bitch! What the hell…"

Looking up around the rim of my foxhole, I was met by the sight of my best friend Black*Star with a goofy grin on his face. I must say, he looked ridiculous; even for _him._ His characteristically spiky teal hair was poking out from under his steel pot-style helmet and he was dressed in an overly large Government Issue rain poncho. A large wooden crate was slung over his shoulder.

"Christ, Black*Star. As if I didn't have enough to worry about with Kraut snipers trying to blow my fuckin' brains out, you just gotta bring me down a few hundred brain cells more. Not cool at all, man."

He cackled. "That's how you thank a god, eh? Well, you're welcome. That's one month's worth of Thompson ammo, just so ya know."

"Fuck." I swore forlornly at the mud as Black*Star trudged away, a large 'squelch' punctuating his every footstep. Reaching into the canvas bag, I pulled out a long, black stick magazine for my Thompson M1A1; nursing the growing bump on my head as I watched the top .45 ACP shine in the low light.

Slowly, I tossed the empty SMG mag into the bag, and replaced it with a loaded one; pulling back the slide and flipping on the safety.

I dropped my helmet into my lap, pulling my own tattered poncho over my head and brushing against my spiky, gravity-defying silver locks. I gripped the cold metal handle of my 1911 Colt, slowly being claimed by the darkness of sleep.

I dreamt of home. The night before I had left, to be exact. I had fought my last fight with my parents.

_-Flash-_

"_You know you'll never be as good as Wes at anything. Know your place, boy." My father rumbled in a threatening tone._

"_Like hell I never will!" I spat back contemptuously. "Honestly, I really don't freaking care anymore."_

"_Watch your language, Soul. Please…" My mother chimed in frostily._

"_Usually I try to be nice Soul," Wes spoke softly from behind the piano. "But…You really screwed up on this one."_

_And I pivoted on my heel, kicking open the large double doors as I trudged sullenly outside without saying a word. _

"_Soul-" someone called. I just continued into the garage to get my motorcycle, starting the engine and flying off into the street light illuminated night._

_-Flash-_

I had just wanted to forget it all. So, I had promptly spent all the money I had on me (more than you might think, my family _is _ridiculously rich) on getting shitfaced. So, yeah. I got really, really, slobbering drunk and stupidly drove off; wrecking my bike. I wasn't hurt but, had practically destroyed an entire street front shop when my bike smashed through the door; taking half the door frame with it.

I just couldn't live with the consequences, so I ran off. And, well, here I am.

"564th, form up!" Sgt. Ford shouted imperiously, perched atop his Sherman tank, the "_Royal Thunder"_. "We're off to muscle up the Allied forces off of Mere Elise."

The tank's title was scrawled in a gold hue on the side of the mechanical war machine along with a stereotypical lightning bolt.

In response, the battalion groaned collectively; myself included.

"I'm sorry, _what _was that?" Ford shouted angrily.

"Hey, Ox! Check it out!" Black*Star cackled from atop of our tank; dropping his dungarees and mooning his superior officer.

"W-why, damn you, Black*Star!" Ford shouted, his two pillars of hair standing up indignantly; going beet red as he jumped up in down enraged on the fuselage of the _Royal Thunder._ "I could very well have you court marshaled for such behavior!"

Black*Star smacked his ass rebelliously before pulling his pants up. "Ohhh, you'd like that, wouldn't you? But no man can take a GOD like me! HYA-HOO!"

Ford smacked a palm to his forehead, trying to regain his composure as he pushed his weird glasses up on the bridge of his nose. He finally retreated down into the turret of the great metal beast, followed closely by his gunner Harvar.

Kilik winked to me as he set up his .30 caliber Browning machine gun on the turret of Ox's tank. Meanwhile, Black*Star donned his ridiculous-looking tank commander's goggles and plunged into the belly of our own tank.

I tried to hoist myself up onto its chassis to join him, but ended up slipping in the mud and falling on my ass like an idiot.

And ground my muddy G.I. boots into the soft, wet earth to try again when a hand was offered to me. Looking up to the hand's owner, I found it to be none other than one of my closest friends, Kid. I took his hand and was hauled up onto the hard iron vehicle where we both stood for a moment; scanning the bleak, gray, horizon.

Man, how he's gotten stronger since we first met. He sat down wearily on the turret of our tank, the "_Camelia Blossom"; _looking at me with his metallic, two toned golden eyes as he currently displayed one of his most recognizable features: The three horizontal white stripes set on the left half of his dark, ebony bangs as he held his helmet in one hand.

Black*Star always teased him about his stripes, calling him a zebra. Kid would respond by pounding his fist on the ground in a childish manner; screaming something about him being an abomination or garbage because of his "asymmetrical" stripes. He was an odd bird, but well meaning. He, Black*Star, and I had hit it off during boot camp when we discovered that we all had the same hometown: Death City. We quickly became the best of friends. Ahh, and what a living hell those months were… But,they _do _say that shared misery brings people together.

"Hey, mortals!" Black*Star greeted, popping out of the tank's turret covered in black gunpowder from handling used shell casings. "We've got us some orders from higher management. Major Law says that the 564th are to head up to some place called San Meré Eglise."

Kid opened his mouth to explain our objective to our knucklehead companion, but was shot down as our ADHD tank commander yelled something about being left behind by our own battalion and popped back down into the _Camelia_'s belly like a gopher into a hole as he revved the engine on our ride.

I sat down to one side of the turret to keep from falling as I watched Kid.

He was currently indulging his OCD tendencies by messing with and polishing our enormous MA2 .50 caliber Browning machine gun; shining each pointed shell in the bandolier as if it would somehow help more against the Germans if it was cleaner. I gave him a tired grin, showing off my shark-like teeth.

"Come on, Kid stop it already. I mean, _polishing_ our fifty cal? Not cool at all."

He simply shrugged in the rain, mumbling something offhandedly about "necessary symmetry" and continuing his work.

He, unlike most men that had enlisted, had not gotten much more muscular over the course of our training. He had pretty much always been lean and skinny, but was handsome. All the girls had probably flocked to him back in Nevada. The only difference was the charcoal stubble adorning his usually extremely clean cut features.

Apparently he had a past similar to mine. Kid had been the son of a man who meant by the odd name of Death; the mayor of Death City. The OCD 18 year old had joined the Army with his father's consent, unlike me; I had lied about my age.

I glanced down and fondly rubbed the side of our vehicle, my ruby-red eyes resting on where "_Camelia Blossom" _was scrawled alongside a crudely drawn namesake of the flower.

Everyone had gave Black*Star flak about wanting to name the tank something so feminine and girly, but he had succeeded in getting everyone to stop after a few threats. He had later let Kid and me in on his real reason. He had a girlfriend back in the states, Tsubaki, I think her name was. She was a Japanese girl that had immigrated a few years back from Tokyo with her father, mother, and brother. He claimed that her name meant "Camelia blossom" in English, so we let him name it.

Quite honestly, I only half believe that the girl even exists. I mean, she would have to be a Goddamn angel to have to put up with the idiots fantasies about surpassing God.

-Skippity skip skip skip a lil bit-

"We're getting close…" Kid muttered.

It was STILL raining. I swear, ever since we fucking got to France, it has done nothing but rain on us.

"_Well," _I thought, glancing briefly down to the company of infantry half marching, half slipping in the mud alongside of us. _"At least we down have to walk in the mud like those poor sons of bitches."_

We had been accompanying E company for about 3 days now, working up and down the inside of the coast.

Kid's suspicions were confirmed when a German artillery shell exploded next to us, spraying red mist, severed limbs, and shrapnel into the air with deadly effect.

I fell face first into the mud, the sharp ringing of shellshock bouncing around my eardrums. I spat some curses, standing up to join Kid as he spun his twin 1911 Colts around like a trick shooter before grasping the wooden grip and placing his pinkies firmly on the triggers in his special dual-wielding style.

He grinned calmly at me. "Seems it's time to go."

**A/N: Eh? Eh? So, whadda ya think? Tell me. Review. Fave. Add story alert. Be happy. And come back for more or I'll EAT YOUR EFFING SOUL!**


	2. Black Joker, Part  2

**A/N: All words with [G] after them are explained in the glossary at the end of this chapter. ENJOY OR DIE!**

**Oh and also, do you guys really want a SoulxMaka lemon in this story? **

**And speaking of lemons, I wrote one but was wondering if you guys think I should post it. SO answer me in a review mutha fuckas!**

Chapter 2: Black Joker, part 2

The "_Camelia Blossom" _rumbled along into San Mere Eglise in front of us; bullets richocheting off of the iron chassis as more projectiles hissed through the air like angry bees around Kid and I.

"Shouldn't we get in and help Black*Star?"

Kid shook his head, chuckling quietly as explosions and flames bursted around us.

"You know damn well he wouldn't accept our help. We'll do more good on foot."

One last tinge of doubt hit me. "But will he even able to _reload _the cannon on his own?"

My question was dispelled as the _Camelia _ground to a halt, rocking back on it's treads as it let loose 15 pounds of molten lead, travelling at over 2000 feet per second, towards the German infantry in an adjacent building and rattling my teeth with a ear-shattering 'BOOM'.

"Nevermind, he can probably manage…" I muttered, unslinging my Thompson [G] off of my shoulder as I chased Kid into the once peaceful French village.

Apparently Kilik and Hero had the same idea, rushing in beside me with their own weapons locked and loaded.

_KKCcracckk!…_

A German sniper with a Kar-98K [G] took a chunk of plaster out of the wall next to my head, the microshrapnel stinging my skin. A trio of SS[G] soldiers emerged from an alley too our right, filling the air with machine pistol fire and shattering most of the windows around us.

Immediately the two forerunners were felled as Kid's twin Colt pistols discharged in unison, blasting open both enemy solider's heads with heavy leaden charges.

Another _Infanterist _hopped over a low wall in front of us, charging Hero with bayonet fixed. Kilik promptly saved his ass by knifing the German in the stomach before following up by kicking his opponent away and shredding his torso with a single shell from his trench gun [G].  
><em>*Bang! Bang! Bang! PING!*<em>

Hero's M-1 Garand [G] spat out its stripper clip when he fired the last bullet; He promptly reloaded, picking out another target.

Hmm, I guess Hero wasn't _entirely _the pretty boy he was made out to be.

Meanwhile an enemy soldier with a Panzershrek anti-tank bazooka [G] fired at Black*Star's tank; a wispy trail of smoke marking the projectile's pathway as it exited the mouth of the cannon.

Good thing the Kraut wasn't such a good shot at that distance. The explosive shell hit next to the tank, only causing the ground to shake a bit and Black*Star to get pissed off as he heard the metallic pings of shrapnel [G] on tank and had his eardrums nearly busted.

He popped out of the tank in indignity, a bit of smoke from the Sherman's gun finding its way out of the hatch with him as he glared murderously in the direction that the shell had come from. His bright teal-green hair certainly made him look a lot less threatening than he actually was, with the murderous scowl he wore.

"You fucking Jerry! [G] See? You scratched the God damn paint! Why I oughta-!"

He promptly pulled the slide back on our Mounted MA2 Browning machine gun [G], swiveling it towards the window of the building that the German had shot out of.

_Ding!_

A sound like a carnival bell was heard as the figure of the soldier crumpled to below the window sill; a hole in the blast plate of his Panzershrek. Kid sighed with satisfaction as he looked away from the scope of his Springfield [G] bolt-action rifle; his twin Colts in their respective holsters.

"Ahh, great! A perfectly symmetrical shot right between his eyes!"

"ARRGH, what the fuck was that, Kid? Upstaging me like that?" Black*Star screamed over the din of warfare. I rolled my eyes, imagining smoke coming from his ears as he ranted.

"Get over it, we got company!" Kilik yelled, sliding the pump of his trench gun up and back down to chamber another shotshell. The dark skinned teen pointed to the silhouette of a Nazi halftrack advancing down the road towards us.

Of course, Black*Star wasn't even patient enough to let them get in range. Instead he just blasted away, spraying the heavy .50 caliber shells around as he let loose a fiery fullisade of leaden death towards the oncoming vehicle.

The air was filled with cries of distress in German and the blue-haired maniac's crazed laughter as his body shook with each fired shell, riddling the approaching halftrack with fist-sized craters in the hood, engine, and basically everywhere else.

Every time Black*Star's machine gun barked, a German soldier riding in the bed of the halftrack would explode in a shower of meat and blood; and soon all of it's occupants were nothing but entrails.

_*FWOOM!* _The gas tank of the halftrack caught fire, sending a mini-mushroom cloud of flame into the air. It exploded in a shower of fire and sparks shortly afterward.

The remaining German SS officer turned and fled, his boots clopping on the pavement. I quickly lined up the iron sights of my Thompson with his head and let loose a burst of about 7 rounds. Down the road, the Kraut promptly collapsed, riddled with bloody bullet holes.

Black*Star continued to laugh like a certifiably insane person as he blasted away at retreating Germans on the .50 caliber MG, hardly even aiming.

I sighed. "What a trigger-happy moron…"

_*Kraacckk!...*_

Another round from the Nazi sniper ricocheted off the pavement, and Hero cried in pain; gritting his teeth.

"Damn, the bastard got me…" He slumped against an alley wall, examining the hole just above his ankle; now dripping scarlet liquid.

Kid scowled, angrily grinding his teeth as his golden irises narrowed. "Damn it all…" He turned suddenly to me. "Soul, I need you to draw the sniper's fire so I can get a clear shot."

My eyes were half-lidded over my own ruby red irises. "Kid, are you fucking crazy?"

He rolled his eyes in annoyance. "Well, maybe I am! Just do it, man!"

I got up, slinging my Thompson over my shoulder, the sounds of battle still reverberating in my eardrums. I shook my head, not believing that I was actually going to do this for him. "Jesus Christ…Kid, I swear to God that if I die a virgin because of you, I'm going to kill you so that _you'll _have to die a virgin, too."

And so I pulled one of the stupidest stunts I ever perpetrated. I ran out into the alley, and waved my arms in the air, sprinting in circles like I was doing some kind of demented chicken-dance from hell.

Well, apparently the sniper was given that position for a reason. Even with me being a moving target, his first shot sheared a lock of silvery-white hair from under my helmet. Holy crap, a near headshot on his first try! Daahh shit, Hurry up, Kid!

Meanwhile my OCD buddy rested his Springfield against a wall, squinting through the scope and lining up the crosshairs with the head of the sniper in the window.

Kid's eyes widened to the size of dinner plates when saw the German sniper's scope staring straight back at him. The sniper had caught on, and had ignored me, instead waiting for Kid to peer around the corner.

"Oh, dear, sweet titties…" He murmured, pulling hard on the trigger and throwing himself back behind the wall as his enemy's bullet grazed his shoulder.

In a shower of glass shards, blood, and brains; the sniper slumped in death, his blown-open head resting against the window sill. Kid had shot him right through his own scope!

Some whistles and clapping of some G.I.s across town mingled with the parting shots of retreating Germans as I slumped to the pavement, sweating hard. I stood suddenly, scanning the enemy dead scattered around the street.

My blood red eyes locked on a particular corpse. I was drawn to it for some reason, although I didn't know why at the time.

Slowly, I walked over to the dead Nazi. He was face down with a single bloody bullet hole in his back. I noticed the dark brown leather holster clipped to the back of his belt; it was stamped with an eagle clutching a swastika. Unclippping the single gray, iron button that held it shut, I grasped for the contents. Feeling the familiar weight of a handgun in my grasp, I slid out the firearm, and couldn't believe my eyes.

I held a Luger P'08, the most prized souvenir pistol of the entire German army. They were fairly famous to us G.I.s, American boys would spend all of their gambling winnings and more just to get their hands on one of these to send back home to their folks as a souvenir.

Was I planning on sending this back to _my _family? Sure I was. After hell freezes over, that is.

Jamming the pistol into my belt, I did another thing that I wasn't expecting to do. I watched myself remove the German's helmet, reaching inside the lining as if I knew something was there.

Slipping it out, turned it over in my hand. Hmm, it was a playing card of some sort. I flipped it over again.

"_A black Joker?" _

On another impulse, I stuffed it in my pocket; getting up to rejoin my friends.

(: Glossary of weapons, terms, and vehicles :) OF DOOM

Sherman tank- standard American tank of World War 2. Relatively small compared to tanks of today.  
><span>Thompson M1A1<span>- A submachinegun, meaning it is capable of automatic fire. Most people would recognize it's civilian counterpart more easily, the 1928 Thompson Chicago style, or the SMG used by gangsters like Al Capone.  
><span>Colt 1911<span>-Standard issue semi-automatic pistol, still in use today.  
><span>Browning 1919 .30 caliber<span>- Light machine gun. Usually either manned by a crew of two or mounted on a vehicle. Belt fed.  
><span>MA2 Heavy Browning .50 caliber<span>- It's basically a giant machine gun. .50 caliber shells are about as long as your hand and thicker around than your thumb. If you get hit with one of these, you're not getting up. Also belt-fed.

Waffen SS or "SS"- A slightly more prestigious rank of the German army during World War two.

KAR-98k- The standard issue firearm for most German soldiers. Bolt action, meaning it is NOT semiautomatic. Can be fitted with a scope for more accurate shooting.

Panzershrek- An infantry wielded, portable anti-armor weapon. Fires a single rocket and can be reloaded. Were refitted with a blast plate before WW2 because of burning exhaust. Basically the World War 2 German bazooka.

1897 Trench Gun- American World War 2 combat shotgun. Pump action, and can be fitted with a bayonet cuz it's cool like that.

M-1 Garand- The KAR-98k's American counterpart, it was the rifle issued to most American G.I.s. It was semiautomatic, giving it an edge over the Germans' standard issue rifle; but being semiautomatic compromised accuracy and range.

Jerry- anytime when A G.I. calls a German a 'Kraut' or a 'Jerry'; to Germans…Well, it's basically like 'nigger' is to black people. So yeah, it was a racial slur commonly used by Allied forces. They are like bad nicknames.

Shrapnel- I really, really hope you all know what shrapnel is. But, if you don't, shrapnel is small bits of metal that are expelled outward when an explosive is detonated. Certain types of explosives are made specifically to contain lots of shrapnel to do damage to infantry.


	3. 8 of Hearts, Part 1

**A/N: Shit I am so fucking sorry! I need help with the lemon! And sorry Aussiebarbie, next chapter. Please don't kick my ass. **

We rumbled down the dry dirt road to Eindhoven, the dust choking us and the sun blinding us as we lounged on the hot, green steel chassis of the _"Camellia Blossom"._

I could hear a stream of profanities coming from Black*Star inside the tank, along with the clink of heavy brass and bangs of him hitting the internals of the vehicle with a monkey wrench. Next to me, Kilik Lunge sat upon the turret of our tank; both of his dark-skinned hands covered in grease. He was currently cleaning the slide and firing mechanisms of his trench gun, having already finished polishing and sharpening the bayonet that accompanied it. Kid was sprawled out to the rear of the turret, chewing on a bit of straw with his helmet down over his eyes and muttering something about symmetry in his shallow sleep.

We were on 'leave' for a day, but that only meant we would schmooze the Austrians to find out if there were German soldiers in the area. Now that I think about it, it was probably a not-so-good thing that they were adding our company to the equation of civilian life. If you want bad things to happen in a domestic area, you're gonna need three things. The first of which is 300 or so stressed-out, sex deprived, young G.I.s.

Second of which is women, which, fortunately, (or unfortunately) we had lots of now that we were in Eindhoven. Add to that the fact the Hollanders _adored _us, and that only made it that much easier.

Thirdly, we now had a virtually unlimited supply of food and more importantly: LIQUOR. Again, all thanks to the citizens of Eindhoven and their devout resistance against the Germans. Ooohhh, the humanity.

Last off, we had guns, plus _live ammunition. _To put it bluntly in a totally G.I. sort of way…In case you're a fuckin' retard who's never been out in the real world, these things don't generally mix well.

When we finally reached the town, rumbling down the cobbled stone streets dividing the quaint brick buildings, cheering women and children lined the streets; waving orange flags and pennants, the symbol of the Austrian underground or more commonly the resistance. Most of the men had been either been press ganged into service by the Germans or had hidden with their families somewhere else. We stopped our tanks in the road as Sgt. Ford stopped to talk to the resistance leader of the town; everyone jumping down into the crowds to mingle. I followed, immediately being swallowed the crowd of people. Men were constantly shaking my hands and patting me heartily on my back, women hugged us constantly and some young girls stood on their tiptoes to kiss us on our cheeks.

I saw Ox nodding and shaking hands with the resistance leaders, remounting the "_Royal Thunder" _and cupping his hands around his mouth.

"Evans!" He called to me a bit angrily. "Round up your damned friends and let's move! Regroup at the town square!"

I saluted and began wading my way back to our tank. I passed by Kilik, who had three girls up on the tank with him; his arms flung around their shoulders. I found Kid sitting at a small table and conversing with an elderly Austrian man through a mouthful of…Something. It looked like fine cheese, fresh baked bread and a new bottle of dark wine, judging by the heaping amount of the stuff he had on the plate in front of him and the keg that sat beside it.

I motioned him with one hand to the "_Camellia" _and he nodded vigorously, standing to go and shooting the man a quick "_Danke!" _before I dragged him by his arm away from the food.

"Kilik, lose the _fraulein _and let's get the show the hell on the road here!" I called over the din of the crowd, my blood colored irises shining with annoyance. He nodded and said something to the women in German; hopping to the ground and helping them off of the tank one at a time. The last girl he dipped low and kissed forcefully, standing her up quickly and watching her strut away with a glazed grin on her face.

Kid and I both eyed Kilik blankly for a moment.

"What?" he questioned, feigning innocence. "I liked her!"

Kid rolled his golden eyes, sighing. "Where's Black*Star?"

"Hmm…" He pondered for a moment, putting a finger to his chin in thought. "Lemme check." He jumped up onto the back of the tank, opening the turret hatch and yelling the name of our teal-haired headache.

Black*Star stuck his head out of the turret, smiling crazily. His helmet was tilted at a funny angle, his hair spikes looked even weirder and more messed-up than usual; and his face was covered in lipstick kiss marks. He held a glass of pale wine in one hand. "Hey guys. *Hic*." He drawled out. "I like this place."

"Shit, that's just what we need. A drunken Black*Star…" I mumbled as Kid pinched the bridge of his nose.

He cackled hysterically, making a sloppy salute and slurring a halfhearted 'Yessir!' He chuckled drunkenly. "And who the _hell _is Black*Star?"

Later at the town square, we assembled with our tanks in a circle around the fountain.  
>"Ok then. All you soldiers need to find a family who will board you for the night and a barn to keep your tanks in. The Hollanders are being extremely hospitable, so for the love of God don't do anything stupid." He turned to a slightly more sober Black*Star, who was holding a chunk of ice to his head. "That goes quadruple for you, Black*Star. So go do what you all need to do; we meet back here tomorrow."<p>

Everyone went their separate ways, and Black*Star, Kilik, and I were of course too lazy to actually ask anyone to board us. We dropped our stuff and laid down at the foot of a big pile of hay, completely content with sleeping there for the night.

Kid walked by, eyeing us three weary G.I.s with a look like pity. He smirked at us, and started walking back to a large, old-fashioned house. He looked back at us over his shoulder, smiling like the Cheshire cat.

"Sleeping outside is for suckers."

I sighed heavily as Kilik rolled his eyes and Black*Star stood and we all got our gear together to follow Kid to this house. Suddenly heard the creak of wood and rusty metal hinges as the cellar doors next to a house swung open. Black*Star flipped out his Colt, juggling with it for a second and trying not to drop it before finally gripping it firmly; pulling back the slide back and pointing it at the light from through the cellar stairs.

A tall, well-dressed man stepped out along with a woman.

"_S-sprechen sie Englisch?" _ Kid asked tentatively, toying nervously with the handle of his own Colt pistol.

"_Ja," _The man answered, talking in halting English. "Y-Yeah, a l-lil bit."

"So why were you and your family down in the cellar?" Kilik asked politely.

Black*Star nudged me, chuckling stupidly. "Probably hiding from my godly bigness!" I rolled my eyes.

The man pointed skyward. "We went down as soon as ze first plane went over."

Kid nodded. "Ah, yes those were ours." I remembered Kid saying something about the 101st Airborne division jumping into Holland with us; in fact, we had watched the C-47s fly over ourselves.

"So vy are you here?" The woman asked timidly.

"We're doing our job. Other than that, we're in the dark." Kilik muttered, slicking a hand back through his dreads.

"Yeah." I agreed. "They don't tell us much…"

Black*Star nodded earnestly, coughing into his hand. "Yeah…Or _feed _us much." He hinted ever so delicately.

A few moments later the woman reappeared with some jars of dark colored jam, which Kid thanked him for profusely. Black*Star showed his appreciation by giving the man a big grin and offering him some smokes. Because who needs money when you've got cigarettes?

Suddenly a small boy peeked his head out over the rim of the cellar threshold, his calf brown eyes shining cautiously.

The father murmured something to the kid in German; his tone soft and reassuring. Black*Star chuckled as the youngster sped forward, hugging his mother's leg and was patted on the head, ruffling the boy's shaggy, German-typical blonde hair.

Kid crouched down, opening the boy's palm and smiling warmly as he reached into his pocket. The boy stared curiously at the rectangular, paper-wrapped package in his grasp; Kid took the child's fingers in his own, moving their fingers in accord and peeling back the shining foil on the object. Slowly a brown, waxy surface was exposed to shine in the moonlight: chocolate.

My OCD friend's two-toned, metallic, golden eyes smiled as the child took an experimental sniff, immediately followed by a huge bite. He grinned and his eyes dilated as the sweet, sugary taste graced his tongue; chewing appreciatively.

The man sighed, watching his son readily devour the tough, brick-like G.I. chocolate.

"He's never had chocolate before."

For a brief moment, I smiled for the first time since what feels like forever. The first time since home. Since I enlisted. Since D-Day.

I could tell that Black*Star and Kid were feeling the same thing. This boy reminded us of the picture of pure innocence. The picture of what was before the corruption of the world reached us. Before this hell of a war ever started. Sure; peace now. But we all knew it was tragically destined to be short lived.

_-WoRld At WaR-_

As we marched off to battle and away from Eindhoven, no birds whistled in the trees, and a thin layer of fog obscuring our surroundings and making it hard to see for several feet ahead. The silence was deafening: no one daring to break it. I stared at the dirt in front of me, pushing a spiky lock of silver hair out of my sight and imagining my own funeral dirge playing in the background.

The tension was felt by every G.I. in the company as the sounds of our footfalls were absorbed by the unseeable forest on either side of the dirt road. That day that we left had been so different from the previous one. No vibrant orange flags or penants had waved from the windows, and no civilians had greeted us in the streets. It had been completely and utterly silent: the proverbial ghost town.

Word among the boys was that our C.O.s were considering giving us another day's lead in Eindhoven if we took care of the problem in a Dutch town close to here. Surprisingly Ox Ford was among the ones who were in favor of it.

The problem? The Weremacht. When they had heard that the Dutch Resistance had been telling us about them…Well, they weren't very happy. They moved into a town called Carentan; ransacked and looted the place pretty bad. They had killed some, press ganged others in the military, and had been fucking with the place like they owned it. (Well, technically they practically did; Germany had been occupying France for years at this point.) That's why we had to stop them.

As we approached the town, it was eerily quiet, save for the rumbling of the engines of the _"Camellia Blossom" _and the crunching of dirt under its treads. We only had our two Sherman tanks, our own company along with the compliment of our old buddies in the 101st Airborne. They were all on foot. It was brightening up a bit, and we could see one of their noncoms standing out in the road. I wondered what the hell he was doing, Carentan was, like, _right there, _and knowing the Germans, you could easily expect sniper fire. I could hear the man's superior officer yelling something about getting back behind the tanks. The G.I. put the binoculars down; apparently he couldn't hear over the noise of the _"Royal Thunder"s _engine. I saw his mouth move, speaking an inaudible 'What?'. That was when a single white tracer zipped through unnamed noncom's spinal cord; sending a fine spray of blood skyward and small fragments of bone into the air.

Kid pointed to the now visible tree line. "Halftrack!" sure enough, the vehicle in question was racing along, a machine gun rattling in the bed as it sent leaden spears hissing through the expanse of field in our direction. Kilik yelled to Black*Star through the hatch in the turret, pulling the slide back on the Browning and swiveling it on its mount. Slowly the hydraulics whined as Black*Star worked his magic; the turret slowly groaning into position. Its large barrel in position, the cannon suddenly spoke; discharging a large fireball and unseeably fast leaden slug at the Germans.

The vehicle was blasted in half, sending shrapnel, scrap metal, and German-bits skyward. You could clearly see the line Kilik was drawing in bullets as he cut down the wounded, burning German soldiers stumbling out of the wreckage with a chatter of fire from his mounted .30 caliber machine gun. Immediately the air was alive with an unnatural whirring, and my teeth rattled in my head as a heavy shells from a Kraut .88 millimeter blasted huge craters in the dirt around us. I scowled, exposing my pointed canine teeth as I wiped dust and grit from my eyes; peering through the haze of battle towards Carentan. I heard the distinct, familiar rattling of a MG 42 machine gun and could make out the faint barrel flashes out of the second story window of a house. Thank God it wasn't facing us, but instead our 101st Airborne buddies. I sprinted towards the town, the _"Camellia Blossom" _in tow; along with Kid, Kilik and Hero. A bullet screamed waspishly through the air close to me and I instinctively threw myself flat. I heard metallic ping sound from behind me as the bullet ricocheted off of Black*Star's tank and whipped around just to see Kid fall flat on his back. Kilik was down kneeling next to him before I could even react; questioning him nervously and checking him for wounds.

"Kid! Kid! All you all right?"

Kid seemed unsure himself as he sat up on his elbows, his soft golden eyes crossing uncrossing. "All right! All right? _Am _I alright? Yes, of course I'm all right. I think."

I offered him a hand up, and we continued our charge into the town. There were almost no Germans, save for a few machine gunners and snipers in opened windows and church steeples; in which a perfect vantage point was provided. Knowing the Nazis, none of them were left unused.

The next hours were a blur. I would be next to different people at different times. I remember teaming up with Kilik, him bashing the windows of buildings into shards of glass, and me following up by chucking a grenade in through the opening. We repeated the action several times over. One time I was about to lob a grenade into the room of one brick house, but Hero stopped me; readying his M-1 Garand and kicking down the door. I followed after, met by the sight of him staring dumbly at a German civilian family of four huddled in a corner and cowering as explosions and gunfire tore the world outside to shreds. I grabbed him by the shoulder, hauling him back out in the dirt streets.

Meanwhile Kid spied something next to a once quaint house a little bit off. It looked to be a tank covered in dried straw. Rushing back to the _"Royal Thunder", _Kid jumped onto the chassis and banged on the turret hatch repeatedly. An indignant sergeant Ford popped out, glaring at my OCD buddy through his weird glasses. "What is it!"

"There's a Tiger over there, behind that house. You need to get it or more G.I.s will die!"

Ford peered through a small set of binoculars for a moment, scanning the horizon for the tank. Apparently not finding anything, he set the pair down to dangle by the strap about his neck. "Well if I can't see it, I can't damn well shoot it, can I?"

Kid pointed, rolling his eyes in exasperation. "Put a few rounds into that building right there, and you're gonna see him real good."

"Nope." Ox turned his nose up, making Kid's jaw drop. "My orders from division are not to destroy civilian property."

Knowing not to question superior officers, Kid simply left.

I was still in Carentan fighting, when suddenly seemed to be much larger numbers of Nazi soldiers then when we had entered the town; Germans now streamed forth from cellars, out of barns and basements like bugs finally coming out of the woodwork. I scrambled backwards, almost falling as the mechanized barking of a machine gun issued from the periphery of my vision and chunks of dry dirt were blasted out of the ground around my feet. I quickly dove behind the cover of a little red brick wall, listening as the bricks facing the MG splintered under the onslaught of fire.

To my left on the other side of the building, Hero and Kilik were setting up the rifle grenade launcher on the M-1 Garand of the former. Luckily the coffee skinned G.I. had had some experience in a mortar crew.

"Angle 36 right, 45 vertical." He braced the rifle as Hero gauged the path that the projectile would take. "Firing." Hero pulled the trigger, sending the airborne explosive skyward with a 'whumph' and a small trail of exhaust. Peeking my head around the wall, I watched as the German manning the MG and his assistant gunner were thrown from the roof of a manor with a brief but deafening explosion; bricks, blood and what looked like a leg and an arm sailed through the air.

"Kilik," Hero spoke through clenched teeth. "I'm going in there; the MG-42 suppressing the 101st Airborne men is still manned. I'll take it out." Kilik was about to protest, but the blonde man was already dashing across the open field to the building, having already discarded the launcher on his M-1.

My eyes were drawn to something glinting in the sunlight; a window in the second floor of a building in Hero's path. I realized what was happening too late.

"No. NO!" I yelled, I screamed, starting forward; but knowing inside that I could do absolutely nothing about what happened next. A sharp, resounding crack and a wreath of crimson mist around Hero's head; and it was over, my comrade lying facedown in the grass: dead. "Animals! You fucking animals! KILLED HIM!" I charged the house in my near delirium, tears rimming my eyes as the rage carried me away. Machine guns and machine pistols opened up, German 'potato masher' style grenades flew through the air, Krauts charged me with bayonets; but somehow, nothing touched me. I saw myself kicking down the door and tearing up the stairs, smashing in yet another door to find myself staring down the sniper. He was apparently just reloading, so he dropped his rifle. I was on him before the piece ever hit the floor; putting him in a chokehold. I could his mouth moving and his strangled wretching noises that he made as his resistance gradually weakened and he was deprived of oxygen. Being impatient enraged, and out for blood at the time, I didn't even wait for him to suffocate. I finished him quickly, hearing his vertebrae pop as he gave his neck a sharp twist; feeling his body slump against me in death.

_CRASH! _

I kicked his limp body viciously through the window, and it landed with a meaty thud; his limbs and odd, unnatural positions. Retreating back down the stairs, I came upon a German corpse that hadn't been there before. I tried not to look at his face, the reason being that it was mostly gone. The stiff was clutching a Walther P38 pistol in one cold, dead hand, and judging by the splattered mural painted in blood and gray matter on the wall he was slumped against; the single shell casing on the floor, and the crimson hole in the young soldier's cap implied that he had killed himself. He was clutching something to his chest tightly. With the end of the barrel of my Thompson, I pushed his hand away from his ribs to fall into his lap; his fingers unclenching and exposing what he held.

My face paled as the playing card I had found earlier turned ice cold in my pocket. The man held another yellowed, bent tarot playing card in his dead grasp: an 8 of Hearts. I pinched the corner of the card between my thumb and forefinger, sliding the card out of his hand.

I stepped back, surveying the gruesome scene as my hand shook unconsciously at the weight of the card. In the hand that was opposite the one holding the P38 handgun, he held a note. Snatching it up, I scanned it quickly; it was of course scrawled in tidy German. Too bad I didn't speak or read German. I decided I would show it to Kid later when we had the time. It looked like it said…

" Um den Finder dieser Karte des Todes: vernuntfig zu verwenden."

It all looked like chicken scratch and gibberish to me, but I stuffed it in my pocket anyway to join the two cards. thenI ran up the stairs again (though calmer this time, and still grieving Hero's untimely death), and went to the broken window, scanning my view of the town for signs of Kid or Black*Star. I then noticed a strange shape next to the barn of one of the houses in my vision. It looked like a really, _really _big hay bale. It had some wierd-ass projection on the front, as if a thin telephone pole were protruding from the thing. I nearly pissed my pants when it started to MOVE, and the hay slid off the thing, exposing tan camouflaged, shining armored chassis.

Staring at the previously unexplainable projection on the face of the now mobile whatever-it-was, I almost pissed my pants as I realized it was a barrel of a German Tiger Tank. And I almost pissed my pants _again _when the hydraulics on the turret groaned, and the the barrel pointed straight at me.

(: Glossary of Weapons and terms :) OF DOOM

Tiger Tank: A nickname for the German tanks of WW2. Look up a picture, dey pretty kick ass.

Walther P38: A German pistol sought after G.I.s as a souvenir only a bit less than the Luger P08 handgun mentioned last chapter.

Rifle Grenade: Look up a pic of and M-1 Garand rifle grenade launcher and you will get the gist of it.

'Potato Masher' style M24 _Handgranate:_ called this by G.I.s because it literally looked like a short club that used to be used to mash potatoes, because of the wooden stick handle and cylindrical (spelled wrong, but fuck it) charge that made up the actual grenade.

**A/N: So anyone know what the dead Kraut said in his note? Please translate it.**


	4. 8 of Hearts, Part 2

On The Front Lines, Chapter 4: 8 of Hearts, Part 2

I barely had time to take two bounding steps before the explosion shook my whole world into jell-o. Splinters sank into my back, bits of brick peppering me and knocking the helmet from my head. The deafening _'DOOM!' _of the shell bursting so close to me rattled my teeth in my head, and sent painful reverberations bouncing around inside my skull as the concussion tossed my body down the stairs, flinging me and rolling me like a ragdoll for all I was worth.

Embarrassingly, I bit my tongue in between my teeth when I hit the bottom; lying sprawled and spread-eagled on my back. The lancing pain in my ears and the high pitched, almost inaudible ringing in my head made me unhappy at the prospect of getting up, but then that horrible hallucination of Black*Star's voice in my head telling me to "Kick off my fucking high-heels and get up off my lazy ass" and that "There's a war on", in case I hadn't noticed.

I grimaced in pain as I stood, wiping a dribble of blood from my mouth onto my sleeve and sighing; a hint of annoyance shining in my crimson red irises. I walked over and retrieved my Thompson, scooping my helmet up on my way out. Now, nearly countless numbers of German soldiers swarming about now, giving fire to the retreating G.I.s. I could see Kid and Harvar returning fire and throwing back grenades as they fell back. I could tell we were in a bad position, as, to my rough estimation, 40 to 50 German soldiers advanced; giving fire with machine pistols and rifles, throwing potato masher style grenades as they jumped over walls and across ditches and shell craters. A few had MG42s balanced across their shoulders, others had Panzershrek anti tank bazookas. Half of a small wooden barn was vaporized into splinters and dirt as a German tank destroyer laid a single round into its side, to come barreling forward through the flaming wreckage with the crunch of boards and farm equipment being crushed undertread. It smashed effortlessly through a wooden fence before grinding to a halt, its chassis lurching forward from the sudden stop. The commander, looking out through the hatch in the hatch in the top, pointed towards our general direction and gave the order to fire.

*_**BOOM!***_

I hit the dirt as the unearthly sound of a shell slicing through the air issued from somewhere close by, and I looked up only to duck down again as Ford's Sherman tank, the _Royal Thunder, _went up in flames as the shell went right through its side; the gas tank exploding and shrapnel and scrap metal flying in all directions as the vehicle was blown to hell. A burning Sgt. Ford emerged from the Sherman's turret hatch, falling to the ground. I watched as he leaned his back against the destroyed tank, drawing his Colt with one hand.

He shot an advancing Waffen SS soldier in the face as he rounded the corner with his MP40 in both hands, the pistol bucking against his hand as he feebly steeled himself for the recoil. Another gray coated German soldier ran around the corner of a house, and promptly shot Ford once with his _Karabiner_; the round taking him in his left shoulder. The sergeant's Colt discharged twice more, and the Kraut fell to his knee with a scream, clutching his calf just below the kneecap. A third soldier rounded the corner, and I looked away as Ford let his hand drop and the German bayoneted him again and again.

_***DOOM!***_

A large cloud of smoke and fired rolled off of the top of the tank destroyer as a shell from the _Camellia Blossom _struck it. A dazed assistant gunner popped out of the mangled hatch, holding his ears as he stared uncomprehendingly at what was left of the commander; which was mostly smeared over the top of the vehicle.

_***POWM!* **_

Bits of the assistant gunner flew everywhere as a second round from Black*Star's tank gun gutted the tank destroyer from front to back, additional ammunition inside exploding under the high heat and pressure; an enormous fireball filling the air around the vehicle as its barrel slumped towards the ground, the hydraulics going slack. Some of the advancing German soldiers fell as Kilik's Browning rattled to life, Black*Star driving the _Camellia Blossom_ backwards through a brick wall. The Sherman's chassis rocked as another round exploded into a group of advancing German soldiers, sending a column of dirt, cinders, and flesh into the air.

That was when I noticed the lone, gray-coated German soldier taking cover behind the corner of a house, eyeing up Black*Star's tank. He unlsung the Panzerfaust from his shoulder and braced it against his side.

"NO!" I shouted over the noise of gunfire, shouldering my Thompson and pulling back the slide. "I'm NOT losing another friend to you Kraut bastards!"

I let loose two or three long bursts of fire, emptying my entire magazine. Due to the long range shots, short barrel and relatively small caliber of my weapon, not a single round hit; either kicking up dirt a few feet from him, zipping off the building near him, or falling woefully short of my target.

KiIik swiveled the Browning towards the soldier, only to have it fire one round in the Kraut's general direction before jamming. I could see his mouth moving as he yelled something to Black*Star down inside the tank, pointing with a dark skinned hand to the German soldier; who was now lining up the _Camellia Blossom _in the iron sights of his Panzerfaust. Black*Star must have got the message, because the tank's turret turned, the barrel inching to the right agonizingly slowly.

"Dammit!" I swore as I desperately reloaded my Thompson, trying futilely to do so quickly enough to shoot the man in time: to stop what I knew would inevitably happen next.

_Whumph!_ The soldier's Panzerfaust kicked, and the slow moving football-sized explosive traveled in a shallow arc towards the tank, and tears came to my eyes as it hit home with a heavy thud.

At first, nothing happened: time stood still. Then the blast sparked to life, filling the air with thick black smoke and hot, bright orange flames as the charge burned through the thick metal of the _Camellia's_ chassis. I kept staring, petrified and rooted to the spot in horror as I watched Kilik jump from the turret in time, only to be knocked to the ground by the explosion as the tank's metal warped; fire and smoke spouting from the turret hatch.

A few tense seconds later Black*Star emerged from the burning wreck, crumpling to the ground as some ammunition left in the vehicle exploded with a deafening shock wave. He stood slowly and with easily visible pain and difficulty. His left pant leg was soaked red with blood and his jacket was smoldering; one sleeve nearly burnt to nothing, his helmet nowhere to be seen. The tank destroyer that had totaled the _Royal Thunder _fired one round into the midst of some 101st guys who were hunkered down in ditches or behind walls, sending a shower of dirt and limbs into the air. The ball mounted MG42 in the tank's chassis let out a sustained burst of fire towards the retreating G.I.s and 101st paratroopers, and several toppled; throwing their hands in the air as the bullets tore into them.

Across the town, I could vaguely see my buddies returning fire to the sudden swell of Germans. Kilik was obviously not as seriously injured as Black*Star, but even at that distance I could see the difficulty and pain that it took Kilik to support the wounded tank commander. My ADHD comrade's arm was thrown about the other's shoulder, and Kid and Harvar were covering them as they hastily limped away (If that's possible.) Also, when I say that I saw them, by that I meant that I could see Black*Star's obnoxious, spiky teal colored hair from roughly a mile away. Probably, I'd never really checked as to the exact distance.

All around me, German 88mm cannon shells were exploding into retreating American troops, waves of machine gun tracers tearing into the soldiers as the call to retreat was heard throughout Carentan. I turned to go, looking in the direction other G.I.s from my company had gone. Distracted, I was snapped back to reality as more ammunition exploded inside the chassis of the _Camellia Blossom_ some 12 yards away from me, and I looked back over my shoulder to see something zipping through the air, a fast moving blurry shape slicing through the air towards me at speeds almost too fast to see.

Then it hits me in the back, and I'm knocked flat on my face; an overwhelmingly painful burning sensation coming from the left side of my back, below my shoulder blade. I hissed in pain, cursing under my breath at my shitty luck. With so many German soldiers swarming around this place at the moment, if I stayed where I was I would likely be shot. Twilight was falling quickly. If I tried to make it back to my company in my current condition, I could get lost in the dark and possibly starve, or worse. Or my new wound could become infected, or I could bleed out trying to walk with it; after all, I had no idea how serious it was. Oh, the possibilities.

Looking up ahead of me, I realized my only hope would be the red brick footbridge up ahead to my right. There was a shallow ditch perpendicular to the structure, and towards the center of the bridge there was a round hole towards the bottom; so as to allow for passage of rainwater under the bridge in the event of precipitation. The round cutout was half-covered with a semicircle of grate, and the area under the bridge looked fairly dark; so I decided that was my best bet. Army-crawling through the grass and down into the ditch, I bit my tongue hard enough to draw blood in an attempt to blot out the searing pain of the shrapnel shifting around underneath my skin; finally worming my way over the grate and into the little space under the bridge.

Meanwhile, the Springfield rifle kicked against Kid's shoulder, and he watched through the scope as the head of one of the German soldiers scrambling to set up an MG42 on its tripod, burst; splattering his comrades in a shower of blood as he slumped forward onto the machine gun.

"Kilik, have you seen Soul?" Kid shouted over the crack of his rifle.

"Nope, saw him last when the tank when up." Kilik replied, jerking his thumb backwards towards the smoldering wreck that had once been the elegant _Camellia Blossom, _resting somewhere back in Carentan behind them.

Kid picked off soldiers as he and Harvar ran backwards, covering Kilik and Black*Star. Somewhere behind them, a German rifle cracked; and Black*Star fell the grass in a heap, grunting out a few curse words in pain.

"Shit!" Kilik swore, fumbling through all his gear to get the small Syrette of Morphine [G] from his Aid Kit [G] and administer it to Black*Star.

Kid knelt hastily next to Black*Star, his brow creased with concern as bullets whizzed through the air all around. "Black*Star, where are you hit?"

"K-k…Kid...?" Black*Star said groggily into the dirt.

"Yes, Black*Star?"

"Those Kraut bastards just shot me in my fucking ASS!"

The OCD G.I. rolled his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose in between his right thumb and forefinger. "Can you walk? Are you okay?" He asked deflatedly.

"I'm far from home, I miss my girlfriend, and in relation, I haven't had sex in a really long time. And, on top of all this, I just got shot in the ass. Do you _think_ I'm okay?" Was Black*Star's unenthusiastic response.

"Point taken."

_-oTfL-_

Splinters flew as a few rusty screws were torn free of the small shed's door. Gripping the splintery wood in both hands, Kid dragged the sturdy structure out of the shed's threshold and into the grass; where Kilik dropped Black*Star unceremoniously onto the flattened door.

"Hang on. If you fall off while we're moving and we need to stop to pick you up then we're all dead."

Kid and Kilik both took the front two corners of the door, and Harvar managed to pick up the entire back end of it by himself; supporting Black*Star in the middle of the makeshift wooden stretcher.

And so the three G.I.s shuffled along as fast as they could, supporting their wounded comrade between them, the sounds of the bursting of shells, screams of dying men, and relentless rattle of gunfire ripping Carentan to pieces behind them resounding throughout the falling twilight.

_-1200 Hours – Carentan, Austria-_

Night had long since fallen, and the only thing to keep me company from the crushing darkness and loneliness was the sporadic bursting of superheated .30 caliber shells in the fires of the destroyed _Royal Thunder_'s remaining fuel.

The wreckage of Ox's tank had been burning for several hours since the American company's fall back, and the flames from the bursted gas tank as well as explosions from unspent 75mm Sherman cannon shells were causing some thirty caliber machine gun cartridges to burst. They were roasting in their metal box magazine above the fires, attached to the Browning MG that had once proudly sat mounted upon the tank's turret. The high heat and pressure were causing the gunpowder inside the cartridge to ignite and the shell casing to pop, exactly like putting live rounds in a frying pan.

I sat in absolute silence, trying to slow my racing heartbeat and not daring to breathe as I watched a column of countless German tanks, halftracks, and a staggering amount of companies of infantry rumble and march by on the nearby road; in what direction, I had no idea. I knew that if I tried to move, I would have almost zero chance of making it out of my current predicament alive. And so I decided that the best chance I had at the moment was just to stay put and get some sleep. Combat fatigue, stress under my current situation, and the day's recent emotional turmoil inflicted upon me seemed to mix together into one of the most exhausting feelings I'd ever felt; my eyelids drooped over blood red irises against my will, and I finally passed out.

I awoke some time later, though I had no means whatsoever to determine how much time had passed. The fires had died down, smoldering weakly around the Sherman tank's blackened, twisted metal frame.

Clenching my shark-like teeth in an attempt to stave off the pain of my wound, I crawled out of my red brick prison on the opposite side of which I had entered, allowing myself a moment to lay sprawled out in the moonlight on the grass, wet with morning dew. I heaved myself up with silent effort, readying my M-1 in both my hands. I didn't know how many Germans were still occupying the town, but at least the enormous armored convoy from earlier wasn't still in the area. I crept along through the grass, behind a nearby barn. Trying a rear entrance door, I gave the rusted door handle a forceful tug, and surprisingly it came free. I limped as quietly as I could into the cold dampness of the barn's interior, and my heart nearly stopped when I heard the door to the barn open again behind me. Drawing my knife in one fluid movement, I whipped around and pinned the shadowy figure to the wall, my blade at his throat; ready to kill him without hesitation.

I looked up at his face, half covered in shadows; stripes of his pale skin visible by the narrow shafts of light ghosting through the space between the wooden slats that formed the walls of the barn. He was a civilian, and from what I could tell; the rural Austrian man looked terrified. Another figure walked into the light of the rear door, a little girl, maybe around 11 or 12; although it was hard to tell in the low light. The man bade her in soft German to go, gulping and making the stubbly skin of his neck press closer to the razor sharp blade of my knife. The girl looked scared, and my heart softened. Shit…The man's probably her father. I went to lower my knife, and a fresh wave of nauseating pain washed over me; shoulders tensing in agony. I sat heavily, trying to reach around to my back and check if it was bleeding.

The Austrian farmer put his hand on my shoulder, feeling gently in the area that my jacket was stained red for the small bit of metal underneath my skin. I winced when he found it, and he looked at me expectantly for me to tell him to stop; but instead I nodded for him to continue. He was probably doing this out of pure fear of me, but hey. I suppose a man can pretend for once in a while that a person does something out of kindness or because it's the nice thing to do. I allowed him to rip back a section of my jacket to better access the wound, and I heard a swishing noise as he produced a metal flask and poured some whiskey on my back.

I let out a low noise that was something between a hiss and a growl as the lukewarm, stinging liquid washed over as my tender area of my torn flesh. I looked back over my shoulder, to see him offer me the flask; I considered it for a moment, but shook my head. He shrugged his shoulders, dragging a sleeve across his sweat beaded brow before taking a long swig and then setting the flask down. He took a deep breath, and then began to dig for the shrapnel lodged in my back.

My breath caught in my throat and I couldn't help a muffled "Fuck…" from leaving my lips as the cut was reopened, fresh blood oozing out from around the entry wound of the metal. He searched a bit longer, and then pulled his fingers out in frustration; his fingers coated in a slippery crimson. He wiped them on his pants, and prepared to try again when I did the stupidest thing I've done in a while. I gripped my knife gently by the blade and handed it to the man pommel-first.

Instead of stabbing me in the back like I half expected him to do, he took the knife, slipped the blade into my wound, and began digging with that. In all honesty, I can't remember how long the man took to get the shrapnel out of me. Maybe 3 minutes, maybe 10, I have no idea. Every minute seemed to be multiplied, so that it felt like it took him somewhere more around 3 hours to get to it out. At first I tried to bite my tongue to blot out the searing pain of the bloody knife in my back, setting my nerve endings on fire with its unpredictable, seemingly spasmodic movements; but soon reverted to clenching my jaws as tight as I could, fear of biting straight through my tongue with all the pressure that the pain caused me to give.

I released a heavy sigh when the man removed the knife from my wound and triumphantly held up the bloody sliver of metal to shine in the moonlight. Thoughtfully, he tore a bit of his sleeve off and put in down into the slit like wound the shrapnel had made to keep some of the blood from leaving me.

We both froze at the sound of boots scuffing the dirt road outside the barn and multiple young voices talking and laughing in German. In a split second decision, I shoved the man farther into the darker recesses of the barn, to where hopefully the shadows would conceal him, the little girl ducking back behind the edge of the door so that just one eye peeked around the corner; and without a second's hesitation I grabbed my rifle and scampered into the gloom. Unknown to me, a single dropped white, bloodstained cloth in the middle of the floor told the story about my being there. Not more than a half second after I was concealed, a small group of about 6 Panzergrenadier soldiers revealed themselves as they walked in front of the open barn doors, [G] most in their late teenage years. Two carried KAR 98k rifles slung over their backs on leather slings, others had MP40 machine pistols dangling under their arms on slings as well. One had an MG42 balanced across both his shoulders like a yoke, and the last man carried two cans full of strings of 7.92x57mm Mauser ammunition for the other's machine gun. They conversed and chatted animatedly, a few bottles of beer or cigarettes filling their empty hands in the stay of their weapons.

One of them patted their fellow riflemen on the back with another laugh, and they began to walk towards the periphery of the vision. The rifleman gave a dismissive wave of his hand in the direction of his departing comrades, and walked leisurely into the barn, calling back over his shoulder to them,

"Gehen Sie auf, ich werde aufholen."

He took a second the shift the rifle on his shoulder as he walked into a corner, his boots clopping on the creaking wood. In the dead silence of the night, I could hear him open his zipper and begin to relieve himself. A few tense seconds passed, and he re-zippered his pants and made to leave, when he spotted a snowy white rag, stained crimson. The blood seemed to drain from my face as the realization of what happened hit me:

_"The piece of that man's sleeve! It must have fallen..."_

"He...Hello?" The man ventured to say in choppy English, scanning the barn's gloomy interior for any sign of an enemy.

I grasped the man by the arm in the dark, and motioned for him to exit through the barn's rear entrance. Somehow we managed to get the man halfway through the door before a loud creak startled the German soldier.

"Hello?" He asked frantically, swinging his rifle off of his shoulder and working the bolt once. "I-...Is anyvone dhere?"

The Austrian man finally slipped through the door unseen, and I heard his rapid footsteps retreating to his home.

Locking the bayonet onto the muzzle of my M-1 Garand with a click, I wracked my brain as to a method of distracting the soldier. Ransacking all four pockets of my army jacket, my hand closed around something cylindrical and metal. Slipping the object out of my pocket as noiselessly as I could, I could barely distinguish it as a spent .45 caliber pistol shell casing. In a crouch I turned around to face the man, sitting back on my haunches, and gave the brass a short toss into the opposite corner of the barn. It made a pinging noise, likely impacting off of some farm equipment; and the German soldier whipped around to face the new noise, raising his rifle in the direction that it had came from.

As silent as a ghost from the grave, I jumped the man from behind; my bayonet at the ready.

He turned at the sound of my approach, and attempted to fire his rifle; which jammed. Cursing in German, he backed up frantically, his eyes flicking back and forth between me and his rifle as he desperately tried to work the bolt to cycle a fresh round into the chamber. His back hit the wall, and my bayonet sank into his arm. He let out a scream of hurt and agony as I withdrew the crimson-soaked blade from his flesh. He glared murder at me with those hurt and surprise and hate filled eyes, giving me a solid hook to the left side of my face with his good arm. I staggered back, and he tried to swing his rifle sideways at me as hard as he could, even with one wounded arm; but I blocked its path with my M-1. In one fluid movement, I stepped in towards the man, knocked the KAR 98k from his hands, and dealt him a crushing blow to the face with the butt of my M-1; breaking his nose and sending him sprawling onto his back. My mind went on autopilot as I ferociously brought the point of my bayonet down into his torso again and again; the only audible sounds being my grunts of effort and his wails and sobs of pain as the inexorable sound of steel piercing flesh filled the night.

Blood splattered my face as the blade descended into his head, piercing his skull. I panted, my chest slowly rising and falling as I stared at down at my handiwork, watching the rivulets of blood trace fascinating patterns across the boards as the man's last dying gurgle reached my ears. Something at the periphery of my vision caught my eye, and I turned to see the little girl from earlier standing there, framed in the open doorway and staring at me.

To the day that I'm writing this, there isn't a day that goes by when I don't think about the look on that girl's face, seeing me silhouetted by the light of the moon through those opened barn doors, blood splattered across my visage, my teeth bared; ruby eyes wild in a demonic posessed look, with my hands and clothes slathered with warm crimson, standing in a growing pool of that man's blood. Not a day goes by when remember the absolute horror and shock on her young face, eyes wide and mouth agape at the sheer disgust and repulsion of the scene before her; hands shaking, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes.

She staggered back before fleeing, and leaving me all alone save for the night, the corpse beneath me, and my haunting memories.


	5. NOTICE

To all readers of my stories on , I'm here to inform you that I'll no longer be posting on here. I will repost and continue my stories on Deviantart. After a good cleaning up of everything grammar and plot-wise, I'll continue on that site. If you care to follow my stories despite this, then you can make an account and watch me; I would encourage you to do so rather than be incredibly lazy. Making a dA account is very easy and will take you like 5 minutes so please do. I'll be keeping this account on FF for a time for communicational purposes with some authors on here, but when I get around to it I WILL be deleting this account entirely.


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